All my pictures, gone. My family, gone. Fenna is gone. Helena is gone. It’s like they never existed, my whole life a dream. And then I see a single photograph of Helena and me as children, printed from a disposable camera and affixed low on my cabin wall. We’re standing in the garden in winter sunlight, wearing gloves and scarves and identical sheepish grins. I remember the shutter falling, turning from the garden into the field and running, the warmth gaining in our breath, Helena trailing and laughing, reaching the grassy bank and collapsing together in the frosted turf, coughing, breathing
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Wow this is powerful
